


Late Night Drives and Mythical Creatures

by Makalaure



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, Teen Wolf (TV), The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: College AU, Crossover, Gen, Humour, OOC-ness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 15:45:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2817614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makalaure/pseuds/Makalaure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has pretty much had it up to here with all this supernatural stuff. Too bad his life seems to resemble an extended Hallowe'en party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Night Drives and Mythical Creatures

Disclaimer: I don't own _The Silmarillion_ or _Teen Wolf_.

A/n: This story is incomplete. I wanted to edit it, but lost interest in it since it's been lying around for a while. Hopefully it's still post-able. You'll probably enjoy it more if you're familiar with _The Silmarillion_.

Late Night Drives and Mythical Creatures

Stiles tapped his foot on the ground and pushed away a dubious-looking drink that some sleazy fellow had drunkenly offered him a couple of minutes ago. This day was _not_ going well. He'd found out he'd nearly flunked his first test for his college chemistry class, and that Lydia (sweet, beautiful Lydia with her green eyes and strawberry-blonde hair) would be transferring to a different – better – university in New York. Which only made the fact that Scott was studying in a different state even worse.  
  
At the thought of Scott, Stiles felt his heart sink further. They'd said their farewells before Scott had pulled his suitcase into the airport, and the last thing he'd said to Stiles, with a grin and a wink, was: "Hope you don't bump into any unsavoury creatures."  
  
Stiles was quite happy to not bump into _any_ creatures, thank you very much. He'd had his share of razor-sharp teeth and trickster spirits that effectively wanted to shred his heart into ribbons. He could safely say that every time he ran into supernatural entities, his life took a turn for the worse, and so far college had not cursed him with more of them. All in all he'd have preferred it to stay that way.  
  
And now Stiles was leaning against a counter in an over-crowded dance club suffused with cigarette smoke and heaven-knew-what-else, watching other first-year students dance and make out and throw up on each other. He'd let Danny drag him here because he thought it might distract himself from his troubles, but he was beginning to think this was a bad idea. Where the hell _was_ Danny, anyway?  
  
As if in response, someone collided with Stiles' back, staggered dramatically, and then clutched at the front of his shirt. "'ey, man, what's going on?" Danny slurred, and giggled. Stiles peered at him – yup, definitely blind drunk – and then glanced at his watch. "Two in the morning. Yeah, we'd better get you back home," said Stiles, slinging one of his friend's arms over his shoulder and secretly glad he had a reason to leave. He was already looking forward to his bed and to a plate of chocolate-chip biscuits.  
  
Before he'd taken one step, some guy doing unbridled imitations of a professor accidentally knocked a drink off the counter, and Stiles' new sneakers were instantly spattered with fetching, pink spots.  
  
"Aw, thanks, dude," said Stiles loudly, though the other wasn't listening. "Can't wait to get out of here," Stiles muttered. After maneuvering through the crowd (all the while grunting and cursing), he managed to haul Danny outside, and then paused and took deep, gulping breaths.  
  
He didn't have his jeep; it was gone for repairs. The club was a good forty minute walk from Beacon Hills University (on the way to the club it hadn't seemed quite so far), and he wasn't sure if Danny was up for it. And if Danny fainted or something on the way...  
  
Stiles shook his head and looked around for a taxi, but there was none. The street was mostly empty and rather dim, the wind disturbing bits of paper and sundry rubbish. There were only other clubs, and a few pubs and bars that would have been closing down for the night. Danny's head lolled on his shoulder, and he sighed.  
  
"Are you all right?" came a smooth voice. Stiles squawked and jumped about a foot in the air; he hadn't heard anyone approaching. He turned to find a tall man wearing casual clothes, ratty, over-sized sneakers, and a flowery bandana that covered the tips of his ears. He might have looked relatively ordinary without those strange, bright eyes, as if lit with a flame from within.  
  
"Yeah," Stiles said warily after a moment.  
  
"Are you sure? You look a little lost."  
  
"We just need to get home."  
  
"Where is 'home'?"  
  
Stiles hesitated, then gave a vague location. The man raised his eyebrows and whistled. "That's a bit far, especially considering your friend here." He jerked his chin towards Danny, who was drooling on Stiles' shirt.  
  
Stiles frowned, not liking the stranger's nosiness or his friendly, easy-going tone. Niceness made Stiles suspicious, and had done so ever since he'd been flung into the whirlwind of Scott's myriad werewolf issues.  
  
Then the man said, "Can I offer you a ride to your place? I just finished my shift at the pub. My car is around the corner," and Stiles gaped. "What?"  
  
"I said – "  
  
"I know! I mean..."  
  
"I don't really want to leave two drunk kids on their own at night."  
  
"We're not kids, and I'm not drunk. I've just had a beer."  
  
"Sure," said the other with a little grin, clearly not believing him. Stiles bristled. Oh, if only this dude knew about the crazy, dangerous, swashbuckling adventures he'd had. And if there was one thing Stiles had learnt in his high-school years, it was that there was no such thing as a free lunch.  
  
But Danny was clearly in no state to walk, and they were being offered a ride. Tentatively, Stiles said, "Okay, so, you'll drive us?"  
  
"Absolutely," the man returned. "You can call me Laurie."  
  
Stiles cleared his throat. "Thanks, man," he said, feeling horribly awkward. Laurie grinned and began to walk across the street. Stiles followed, struggling a little to hold Danny up. They stopped beside a small blue car that looked like it had seen better days. When they got in Stiles got a whiff of plastic and old leather and air-freshener. The combination was a bit overwhelming, and he rolled down a window, breathing shallowly.  
  
Soon enough, though, Stiles began to feel more relaxed, the whirr of the engine lulling him into a sleepy state. Laurie drove in silence, mercifully not asking unnecessary questions like what their names were and what they were studying and what they were going to do with their lives. And he was, as far as Stiles could tell, taking them to where they lived and not to some dank cellar to offer them as human sacrifices for whatever unsavoury reason.  
  
At length Danny groaned, burying his head into Stiles' shoulder. "Um," said Stiles, "Danny, you look kinda green. Are you gonna hurl? Because if you are, just tell us to pull over. I don't want your vomit all over me."  
  
"Should I stop?" asked Laurie, sounding concerned.  
  
"Where are we?" moaned Danny.  
  
Stiles glanced outside. "Near the Social Sciences department."  
  
"Pull over."  
  
The car ground to a halt on the side of the road, beneath a lamp-post, and Danny stumbled out, Stiles and Laurie in tow. "What are you doing?" said Stiles in a high-pitched voice as Danny began to bang on the front door of his college building with a fist. "I need a _bathroom_!" Danny yelled indignantly.  
  
"Wait a minute," said Stiles, holding his hands up. "You're not nauseous? You're not gonna faint?"  
  
Danny only continued to abuse the door and howl at the top of his voice. Shortly, someone opened the window by the entrance and a security guard's head stuck out. "What are you doing?" he said gruffly, looking displeased.  
  
"I need to take a dump," said Danny. "Do you mind opening the door? I'm a student at the college. I can give you my card."  
  
"What? No! This building is open only during the day."  
  
"Just open it or I'll go on the grass!"  
  
The two proceeded to have a frenzied quarrel that Stiles might have found funny if he were not in such a surly mood. Laurie, on the other hand, seemed thoroughly amused, and made no effort to hide his grin. "I shouldn't say this," he said in a strained voice, "but I haven't been this entertained in a long time. Nothing I can do to help him, though."  
  
"I really wanna give him a kick in the pants," Stiles muttered. "And why can't the dude just open the damn door? It won't take that freaking long."  
  
"Pointless rules are a part of student life," said Laurie pleasantly, gazing at the scene before them and looking far too chuffed for any decent human being. "You'll miss complaining about them later on, when you have so much freedom you won't know what to do with it."  
  
"Yeah, in another world," said Stiles. The guard finally seemed to have caved in, since he went away and the door opened about ten seconds later. " _God_ ," wheezed Danny, and dashed inside, nearly tripping over his own feet. The guard looked after him distastefully, and then glared at the other two. "Both of you stay out," he growled, and all but slammed the door.  
  
"You realise I'm not going to forget this," said Laurie with a titter.  
  
Stiles nodded, wiped his nose, and swore fluently a few times. When he stopped, puffing, he found that Laurie was gazing at him with a raised eyebrow. "Gimme a break; I've had a rough day."  
  
"I didn't say anything," Laurie said, and leaned against his car, crossing his arms over his chest. Stiles suddenly realised he hadn't seen him properly before. Beneath the lamp-light Laurie looked to be in his early thirties, with a sharp-featured face and a wiry body. If you gave him a leather jacket and an electric guitar – and got rid of that bandana – he could have easily looked like one of those irritating rock stars who girls fainted over. Stiles still couldn't quite get over those eyes, though, oddly luminescent...almost like...  
  
"Oh my God," said Stiles, earning a puzzled look. "You're not..."  
  
Laurie cocked his head to one side. "What?"  
  
"I, uh...where are you from?" Stiles managed.  
  
"England," said Laurie, without skipping a beat. Stiles wasn't convinced. He desperately wished Scott or one of his other werewolf friends were with him, so they could put their lie-detecting ears to use. Maybe Laurie really was a sociopathic killer who wanted him and Danny dead. It would explain how charming he was, at any rate, even if Stiles didn't know exactly _what_ he was.  
  
He thought mournfully of his trusty aluminum baseball bat, tucked beneath the bed in his room. Why, oh why did he leave it behind?  
  
They didn't talk any more. Laurie remained as silent as a certain gruff sour-wolf, and Stiles drummed his fingers repeatedly against his own arm, feeling sweat form at his hairline. Eventually Danny emerged, pale and tired but otherwise fine, and they reached their dorm in another ten minutes.  
  
Stiles barely mumbled a thanks to Laurie, and opened the door for Danny, who stumbled inside, moaning a little. He licked his lips and, on a whim, turned back. Laurie had removed his bandana and was waving at him in what was possibly a gesture of farewell. There was something slightly off about him.  
  
It was then that Stiles noticed his ears; instead of the tips being rounded, they tapered into fine points, like elegant leaves. Stiles gaped. Holy God.  
  
Laurie gave him a rakish grin, all white teeth and glittering eyes, before turning his attention to the road and driving away. The little car disappeared 'round the corner, and Stiles counted three heartbeats before the sound of its engine faded into silence.  
  
For a few moments Stiles stood, stunned, outside his dorm. Sweet, blessed Lord; he was still in one piece. With shaking fingers he reached in his trouser-pocket for his cell phone and punched in Scott's number, and waited for what seemed like an agonisingly long time before he heard his friend's voice. "Stiles!" Scott said happily, and immediately started to babble. "How are you, man? Studies going well? College giving you a break from all that supernatural stuff?"  
  
Stiles coughed and glanced back at the road, feeling strangely light-headed. "Well," he said, "not really. Do elves even count as supernatural beings?"

_\- finis -_

Notes:

Laurie – A spin-off of Maglor's mother-name, Makalaurë.


End file.
